Accidents Happen
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: Ziva and Tim end up in a nasty accident while driving through the rain. With no one around and no reception on their cell phones, they will have to rely on each other to survive the night. Written for Emy as a thank you for her awesome artistic skills!
1. Chapter 1

Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she maneuvered her car through the street. The rain pounded against the windshield and the wipers swished back and forth, shoving the water away with great fury. No matter how hard they swished, though the drops of rain would reappear in seconds, making it almost impossible to clearly see what was coming. That, combined with the fact that the dim headlights offered little light in the dark, wooded area, should have made Ziva decrease her speed; instead, she seemed urged on by them, as though trying to spite the rain and the darkness for obstructing her view.

"Ziva, baby, I really think you need to slow down." Tim was well accustomed to the woman's erratic driving, but she was taking it to an entirely new level. His heart was beating at a very uncomfortable rate as he watched the dark scenery fly by at light speed.

"Why?" she snapped. "I have driven in far worse conditions and came out of it without a scratch."

"Maybe I should drive," he suggested as he swallowed down the recently devoured dinner which was creeping its way up his esophagus. "You seem stressed…"

"Stressed?" she echoed irritably. "Why on earth would you think that?"

"You barely talked during dinner."

"Perhaps I am just quiet. Is that a crime, McGee?"

"Uh…no."

"Then why did you say it as though there was something wrong with me?"

He groaned and rested his head against the window. Tim wasn't sure what was bothering the Israeli woman, but this wasn't the time or place to get into an argument. "You just seemed preoccupied with something, that's all."

"So you think that I am some brainless dimbo, yes? If my mind is running then there must be something wrong?"

"That's not what I'm saying." He winced as the car made a tight turn, nearly running off the road in the process. "You just seemed different and I want to make sure everything was okay."

"Everything is fine, Timothy," she proclaimed in a very disingenuous tone. "My life is completely perfect. I live here and work at NCIS and date you. It is every woman's dream, yes?"

"Are you saying you don't want to date anymore?" he asked hesitantly. The two had been seeing each other for almost seven months and he couldn't be happier with the situation. Despite getting disapproving looks from Gibbs and getting teased by Tony, Tim felt he had found a wonderful companion in the Mossad Officer, especially on an intelligence level. He still felt nervous around her, not only because she could easily have him on the ground in a death grip if he said something to upset her, but because…well…she was Ziva! But he enjoyed her company nonetheless. She wasn't high maintenance and didn't expect things of him. Sure, he tried to turn the romance on now and then, but if he just wanted to veg out in his sweats with junk food and some sci-fi movie, Ziva was more than happy to veg out along side him. They had, of course, had their spats like any couple, but at the end of the argument, they would always find their way back to each other and apologies would be made.

Ziva glanced over to him and Tim saw a certain sorrow in them. Beyond that, he saw something he couldn't recall ever seeing in her eyes: fear. "No," she told him softly, "I am not saying that."

"So what's eating you?"

"Eating me?"

"What has you so upset?"

"I told you, I am _not_ upset!" she yelled in frustration.

"Ziva, I can read you like a book. Something is bothering you and I want to help."

"Who says you can help?"

"Can't I try?"

She emitted a strangled squeal of anger and whipped her head to the side, leveling him with a dark glare. "Will you ever let up? I am fine and I do not need you to ride in and be my black knight!"

"Ziva!"

"Just let me be already!"

"ZIVA!" Tim shouted, pointing ahead. Through the sheet of rain which covered the windshield, he saw that the road was lending itself to a very sharp turn. At their speed, there was no way they would be able to make the turn without going off the road. They were going to crash; it was simply a question of how bad the damage would be when the impact happened.

Her eyes widened as she slammed her foot against the break. The car squealed and skidded along the road. She managed to turn the car, but due to the high speed, the car whipped around a full 180 degrees and the back tires slid off the road, heading straight into a grouping of trees.

The crash occurred with a deafening crash, matched in volume only by their screams. The sound would have been quite a fright to hear…if anyone had been in earshot of it.

* * *

**AN:** This was something I wrote for the fabulous EmyPink as a thank you for her awesome artistic skills. The story is already finished and I will post one chapter per day!


	2. Chapter 2

Tim was brought to by a stream of water beating harshly against his face and a killer headache which throbbed against his temples. Slightly dazed, he sat back against his seat, gently bringing his hand to his head. He couldn't quite remember where he was or why there was blood on his hands, though the latter probably had something to do with the chunk of broken glass which had sliced across his skin.

He winced at the sight of his marred hands and instinctively turned away. His attention was caught by Ziva's unconscious form. Her head was resting against the driver's side window and when Tim leaned over to check on her, he saw that blood was trickling down the side of her face. She had probably struck her head against the window during the crash, giving her a nasty wound and knocking her out; at least he _hoped_ she was only knocked out.

"Ziva?" he rasped as he placed his hand on her shoulder. His throat was dry and tight as he shook her. "Ziva?" She gave no response. He checked for a pulse, sighing in relief when he felt one.

Tim sat back and assessed the situation. The back of the car had crashed into a tree and he had the feeling it wasn't about to move again anytime soon, though the engine was still running. A branch had fallen onto the front of the car, causing the windshield to crack open, covering them both with glass. The storm was still going strong and the now open windshield allowed the rain in, soaking both Tim and Ziva to the core. There was no sign of anyone nearby; Tim had a feeling they were on their own.

He jumped into action, tending to Ziva the best he could. He unbuckled her seatbelt and gently transferred her body to the backseat to get her out of the rain. He then shrugged off his trench coat and wrapped it around her to keep her warm for the time being.

There was no signal on his phone, unsurprisingly. It was still storming, but Tim knew their best bet was to call someone..._anyone_. He grabbed the keys from the ignition and hesitantly stepped out into the downpour. His plan was to walk a ways further to see if he could get a signal, but first he wanted to check her trunk for anything useful. He wished they had been driving his car because he knew he at least had a first aid kit and a flashlight in his car. Of course, if they _had_ been in his car, he would have been driving and there was a good chance they wouldn't have been in this situation to begin with…

Tim shook his head. Now was not the time to point fingers. They needed to get out of there.

He wrapped his arms around his torso as the wind blew against him. He took a step and winced as a pain shot through his right leg. It wasn't broken as far as he could tell and he was able to walk—or, rather, limp—but he felt something wrong with his ankle. It was probably sprained, but he didn't know enough about anatomy to self-diagnose.

He pushed down the pain and pulled himself to the trunk. It popped up after a few tries to get the right key in. His fingers were frozen and it took more effort to turn the key than it should have. Inside, he saw a tire iron, some newly-retrieved dry cleaning, and, to his delight, a blanket and flashlight. He grabbed the latter two objects and slammed the trunk shut before hurrying back into the car.

Ziva still had not come to, and remained motionless as he took back his coat and replaced it with the infinitely warmer blanket. He hated to leave her like that, especially if she were to wake and find herself alone; he knew, though, that he had to try and get a signal on his phone, so he couldn't sit here and just wait for her to wake up before doing so. She could be hurt beyond what he could see and getting medical attention was his primary concern.

The car engine could still run so far as Tim could tell, so he returned the keys to the ignition and turned on the heat to keep Ziva warm. He also turned on the emergency lights, though it looked as though one had been broken in the impact. He gave Ziva a soft kiss on the temple and stepped into the storm once again.

* * *

He couldn't be sure how far he'd walked–_limped_ he corrected as the pain shot through once more–but, thanks to his still barless cell phone, he could see that he had been walking for nearly twenty minutes. In that time, not a single vehicle had passed him, making his heart sink deeper in his chest. Their chances of getting out of there quickly were growing dim.

After another five minutes went by with neither a car nor a cell phone signal appearing, Tim stopped where he was. He looked ahead in the direction he'd been walking and then looked in the direction from which he'd come. He could keep walking and hope for something, but he knew he couldn't stay out here for much longer. He didn't want to return to the car without help, but Tim got the feeling there was little else he could do at the moment.

In the end, Tim opted to keep going for at least ten more minutes. He ambled down the road, pulling his trench close around his body. The rain hadn't lessened for even a moment and the ominous sound of thunder rumbled in the distance, but he pushed through it, thinking back to Ziva lying hurt and unconscious in the back of her car.

Finally, after a few minutes, Tim hit success. He had a signal on his phone; it was a weak one, but it was a signal just the same. He quickly dialed 911, closing his eyes in happiness as he heard the ringing on the other end.

"911, what is your emergency?" the woman on the other side asked.

"Hello! My girlfriend and I were in a bad car crash. She's unconscious and we need help."

The connection was overlaid with static and he almost didn't hear her reply. "Can you repeat that, sir?"

"We were in a car crash!" he yelled. "Please, we need medical attention!"

"Car…how hurt…location?" Her question was coming in pieces.

"What?" he asked. "She's hurt! We need help and-." The phone went dead. "Hello?"

Tim pulled the phone away and looked in horror at his dead phone. He had been so preoccupied with getting a signal that he hadn't even thought about whether or not his phone had a low battery. He was tempted to chuck the now useless phone deep into the woods, but decided against it. Throwing away his phone would so him no good in the end.

Dejectedly, he made his way back to the car as the storm around him worsened.


	3. Chapter 3

She was aware of the sound of rain enveloping her as she lay there. Normally, such a sound would have been pleasant to her ears, but when one factored in the throbbing headache, the harsh chill, and the fact that she was soaking wet, it only served to agitate her pain.

Ziva sat up slowly, a dizzying sensation overtaking her senses. She wasn't sure why she was in the backseat with a blanket wrapped around her or why rain was spewing in through a hole in her windshield. She blinked, placing a palm to her throbbing head as she tried to recall what had happened before she blacked out. When she removed her hand, it was wet. It wasn't wet with water, though; it was wet with a red, sticky substance.

"I am bleeding," she whispered to no one in particular.

A bolt of lightening lit up the sky, followed by a loud crash of thunder which made her heart skip a beat. Ziva trembled as she pulled the blanket tighter. In her stomach, the contents of her dinner churned.

Her dinner! She'd had dinner that night with Tim. They had gone to a small steakhouse. He had done most of the talking. She had barely touched her meal. Then…then they had left in her car. She had been upset; Tim had noticed. Had she dropped him off before the accident? She shook her head. No, because if she had, the accident would have occurred in a more urban area. So if he had been here…where was he now?

"Timothy?" she croaked, her hand still resting on her stomach. "Timothy?"

There was no answer.

"Timothy!" she yelled with all of her strength. She looked around frantically for any sign of him. There was glass on the front passenger seat. The glass had blood on it. Was he hurt? Had he been thrown from the car?

Without another thought, Ziva pushed out of the car and stepped into the rain. Mud and water sloshed at her feet and soiled the blanket which she still held around her body. She walked all the way around the car, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

There was no sign of Tim. She wasn't sure if she should consider that a good thing or a bad thing.

Ziva's stomach rumbled again, but this time she felt it rise up through her throat. She fell to her knees and threw up on the ground. The rain dripped along the skin of her face, trickling into her eyes and blinding her vision. Another bout of vomit spewed from her mouth and she pressed her hands into the mud and dirt to keep her torso up.

The dizziness prevailed again and she lost her balance, falling face first to the ground. Only the blanket protected her body from the storm as she lay there.

* * *

Tim, seeing that his cell phone was now useless, sprinted his way back to the car. His lungs begged for oxygen, but Tim wasn't going to rest until he'd returned to the wrecked vehicle. It wasn't so much because he wanted to get out of the rain, though that was part of it; mostly, he wanted to get back because Ziva was hurt and he was the only one who could help her. They had no means of communication, no help…nothing except each other.

"Ziva?" he asked as he carefully traipsed down to where the car now sat. The door was open and he was sure he had left it closed. A peek inside showed the car to be empty. "Ziva! If you can, answer me!"

The woman heard him and pushed herself up uneasily. "Tim," she called out weakly. "I am over here."

He followed her voice to the other side of the car and saw Ziva lying in the mud with what looked like fresh vomit covering the ground beside her. "Ziva! What are you doing?"

"Where did you go?" she asked. "I woke up…and you weren't here. I thought you…you were hurt, so I came to look."

"Did you throw up?"

"A bit. Where did you go?" she repeated.

"I wanted to get a signal on my phone to call for help."

"And?"

"I got the signal, but my phone died on me," he said, hanging his head in shame. He felt that he had let her down.

If Ziva blamed Tim for their predicament, she didn't say so. All she said was, "Tim...it is cold."

Tim slipped his arms beneath her and lifted her up. Ziva wasn't a heavy woman, nor was Tim a weak man; he was, however, a very tired man at this point and he struggled as he carried her back to the car. Ziva remained almost motionless, her head resting against him. Her only movements were her breathing and her harsh shivering.

"We need to warm you up," Tim said as he replaced her in the back seat. The car hadn't run out of gas yet, so they still had heat for the time being.

"And you," she said between chattering teeth.

"Don't worry about me. Now we need to get you out of those wet clothes."

"Trying to undress me, Timothy," she said in an attempt to lighten the situation. She didn't feel much like laughing at the moment, though.

"The clothes are soaked," he said as he pulled off every bit of her clothing, all the way down to her socks. He placed them on the front seat and turned back to Ziva, now naked save for the dirty blanket. Tim wished she hadn't gotten it wet, but it could still serve its purpose.

"And now you," she told him.

"Ziva, this isn't the time."

"No," she said in frustration, "I did not mean that! You get out of those wet clothes. If we press ourselves together and wrap the blanket around us, our body heat will keep us warm."

Tim blushed. Why hadn't he thought of that?

After adding his clothing to the pile on the front seat, Tim lay down in the back seat. It was a tight fit as he was very tall, but he twisted and contorted his body to fit. Then, he pulled Ziva down atop him. She spread the blanket out and tried to wrap it around both of them. She then rested her head against his bare chest. Her hair was wet and cold, but he didn't complain.

"You know what?" he said softly after the couple had settled themselves down.

"What?" she asked, her voice just as soft.

"This is the first time we've both been naked and pressed together...and I haven't really wanted to have sex."

Ziva offered a laugh, though it sounded almost like a sob. "At this moment, I could not agree more."


	4. Chapter 4

Tim couldn't be sure how long they lay there, naked and bundled together in a blanket cocoon. His mind was occupied with more important matters. How hurt was Ziva? Did she need medical attention? How could they get out of here quickly?

"Do you suppose the rain will ever stop?"

Ziva's question—asked in a voice softer than Tim had ever heard her use—pulled him from his own thoughts. "It will have to eventually."

"Eventually," she repeated, her tone dripping with disdain. "Eventually we could succumb to hypothermia and die."

"I won't let that happen."

"I am sure you would like to think you wouldn't, but some things are beyond our control."

They were both silent as a crackle of thunder echoed nearby. A gust of wind blew through the broken windshield, bringing with it a multitude of raindrops which it sprayed against them.

Ziva scrunched her eyes closed. "All of this…it could have been avoided."

"Maybe; maybe not," Tim replied, pulling her closer.

"No 'maybe.' If we had not gone out tonight, we would not have gotten in an accident."

"You can play the 'If I hadn't' game all you want, Ziva. It won't do you any good. Then you'll just waste energy second-guessing every decision you've made up to this point."

"Perhaps I need to. My judgment has not been very good lately, so perhaps I should look at the many mistakes I've made these past few months."

"What mistakes?" Tim asked. Ziva was no longer talking about that one night, that one accident. There was something more on her mind. "Ziva, what's going on?"

She didn't answer. Her eyes never flickered as she stared out into the black, stormy night.

"Ziva, tell me what's wrong," he implored, stroking her hair as he did so. "Did I do something wrong."

"I do not wish to talk right now."

"We're stuck here alone. All we can do is talk."

"Very well then. Horrible weather we're having yes?"

He closed his eyes in frustration. "What are you doing?"

"I am making conversation as you wished."

"You're sidestepping my question."

"That's because nothing is wrong."

"If I can see through your lying, something must be wrong."

She sat up, holding the moist blanket around her naked form. Her wet hair fell in front of her face, but even through the soaked tresses, Tim could see her eyes blazing. Her body trembled, because of rage or the cold, Tim didn't know. Likely it was a combination of both.

"Why must you always fix everything?" she snapped. "You are so determined to fix all of my problems! Did you ever stop to think that perhaps there are some problems you cannot fix? Or do you think yourself a god?"

Tim was flabbergasted at her reaction. "Of course I don't! I'm worried about you! Is that such a crime?"

"It is not your place to worry for me."

"I'm your boyfriend!"

"I can handle my own problems!"

"So you admit there's a problem!"

"Yes!" she screamed. "Yes, there is a problem! There, I said it! Now are you happy? Are you content to let me be?" Her words echoed slightly, hitting Tim from all sides.

Now it was Tim's turn to be silent. He looked at her, studying her, all of her. He didn't see anger in her face and body language, though. "No…I'm not going to let you be. Something has you scared."

"Nothing has me scared." Her declaration had little conviction behind it.

"What on earth could frighten you this way, Ziva?"

She leaned her head against the glass of the window. "I think I need to throw up." In a way, it was an answer to his question.

Tim gave her a worried glance, concerned that her brief romp through the rain had made her ill, something that would only be exacerbated by her extended exposure to the elements. He leaned over and placed the back of his hand against her cheek and forehead, looking for sign of a fever. He didn't care if she snapped at him for his concern. "You may have caught something when you were out there."

"No," she told him, shaking her head. "I have been vomiting for almost a week now."

"A week?" he asked incredulously. "If you had told me that, I would called off dinner tonight! You should go see a doctor."

"I did," she told him weakly. "I saw him three weeks ago."

Tim furrowed his brow, not at all understanding her. "But if you've only been vomiting for a week, how could he have told you three weeks ago…" He trailed off as it hit him.

He didn't even need to ask; Ziva's nodding confirmed it. "Yes," she told him. "I'm pregnant."

Tim, in his state of shock, confusion, and slight anger asked the worst question he possibly could. "Is it mine?"

"Of course it is!" she spat out. "Do you think I sleep around with just anyone?"

He regretted the question immediately, but wasn't without his own ire. "Well I assumed that if I were the father you'd have told me when you found out instead of giving me the silent treatment and only admitting it to me when we're both stranded in the rain! I guess I gave you far too much credit!"

"Shut up!" she screeched, covering her ears like a child. "Just shut up!"

Tim leaned his head back, running a hand through his hair. Pregnant? Him a father? But…but this wasn't how it was supposed to go! They weren't prepared!

He then asked the second worst question he possibly could. "How could you let this happen?"

Ziva looked at him as she blinked back the tears which threatened to spill from her eyes. She had thought Tim would be the sane and sensible one of them, the one helping her get through it, giving her support. He was the last person she had imagined would play the blame game.

"Oh, so it is all my fault?" she asked in anger and hurt. "You are the smart one, Timothy! I thought you of all people would know it takes two to make a baby! So don't you dare load it all onto me! Don't you dare!"

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. "I should not have told you!" she proclaimed. "It would have been easier to simply take care of it myself!"

"You think you could have hidden being pregnant for nine months and then hidden the fact that you suddenly had a baby?" he asked naively. "Someone was bound to notice at some point."

"Not if I did not let it get that far," she muttered.

Her comment made the entire situation far more real for Tim. He sat there stunned and quiet. This woman—a woman he loved dearly—was carrying his child around inside of her. A little part of him was currently embedded in her womb, developing day by day and waiting until it could finally squeeze through. But there was a chance the child wouldn't get that far. When Tim thought about their baby, he couldn't stand the thought of not being able to welcome it into the world, to meet it, even if it meant a difficult road getting there.

As nervous and as anxious as he was, the situation was now in perspective for him.

"Ziva," he whispered. He tried to pull her into a hug, but she was having none of it. "Ziva, please…we need to discuss this."

"So now it's 'we'?"

He felt his stomach churn in guilt. "I'm sorry for getting angry. I'm sorry for what I said and for hurting you. I'm as much to blame in this situation…probably more to blame than you are. But can we talk about this before making any rash decisions?" This time when he pulled her in for a hug, she didn't resist. He gently rested his cheek against the top of her head. "You're not alone," he promised. "You don't have to pull the stoic act. It's okay to let me help you."

"I have the choice, yes?"

Tim closed his eyes. "Ultimately, yes. If you want my opinion—I'm sure you don't, but in case you do—I think we should have the baby. We're both responsible adults with good, steady jobs. I'm willing to give up whatever I need to. I think we're strong enough to get through this and to come out possibly happier on the other end." He paused to let her speak. She didn't. He sighed, taking her silence as a sign of disagreement. "But…but if you want to…terminate the pregnancy–"

"I don't."

He looked down at her. "What?"

"I don't," she repeated, her voice quivering. "I don't want to get rid of it…I want to keep it."

After she said that, Ziva did something Tim had rarely seen her do before.

She cried.


	5. Chapter 5

The tears which streamed down Ziva's cheeks matched the tears of rain which trickled along the car windows. Her sobs resonated as loudly as the roars of thunder, though they didn't cause the ground to shake quite as much.

They did, however, cause Tim's heart to break.

He caught her quivering body in his arms and pulled her against him to quiet the cries. "It's going to be okay," he said soothingly as he gently rubbed her back. "We'll be fine."

"No!" she yelled. Her face was pressed hard against his shoulder, so her interjection of disagreement was muffled. "No, I have ruined everything!"

"You haven't ruined anything."

She ran the heel of her hand along her cheeks, wiping away the tears which continued to flow. "I wanted this baby…I was frightened to death, but I wanted it! But now I have gotten us into this mess and for all I know the baby was killed in the crash!"

Tim hadn't thought of that. He didn't know much about the gestation period of the human female and what developmental stage the child was at any given moment. He had no idea how likely it was for a fetus at least three weeks old to survive a crash. But right now, it wasn't his place to play scientist and spouter of facts. That wasn't what Ziva needed. What she needed was to be reassured and helped, so that was what he would do.

"You only hit your head. I'm sure that can't hurt the baby."

"We will die here," she said matter-of-factly.

"We won't."

"When the car runs out of gas—which should be very soon—we will freeze out here."

He looked down at the hysterical woman. She was pressed against his side, holding on to him for dear life. Her eyes gazed out the window into sheet of rain which covered them. Her hand laid upon her stomach, the thumb gently stroking right about where the child would be.

Tim reluctantly let go of Ziva and began gathering his clothes. They were still wet. "Okay," he said as he pulled on his boxers, "I am going to go out and get help. You stay here and keep warm."

"Tim!" she admonished, pulling him back against her. "It is storming out there!"

"I know, all the more reason for me to go look for help. No one's likely to see us stuck down here in this weather."

"Please, don't go," she begged. "I do not want to be alone again."

"Do you want help?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to get out of here and somewhere safe?"

"Yes."

"Then let me go find someone."

"But–"

He held up a hand to silence her. "Ziva, I cannot sit here and argue with you! Either I go get help or I stay here with you! I can't do both.!"

She nodded pitifully. "I understand."

He settled her down on the back seat, wrapping the blanket around her once again. "I don't want you to get out of the car for anything," he ordered. "You stay right here until I come back with help."

"And if you do not come back?" she asked in a strained voice.

Tim looked down at her, his heart once again breaking at her apparent fear. He gently stroked her cheek and promised, "I'll come back."

He pecked her on the lips, slipped on his trench coat, and once again stepped out into the rain.

After a brief look to both sides, Tim decided to head in the opposite direction than he had when he'd gone to get a cell signal. He remembered seeing some signs of civilization about ten minutes before the accident occurred. Of course, that had been in a car going well over the speed limit, but with a little luck (and as much speed as he could muster), maybe he'd reach someone in only forty minutes.

He shivered. His clothes were soaking wet. They didn't so much hang on his body than they did cling to it, sucking in against every crevice. His hair hung down in his face. Water dripped into his eyes. Wind blew against him, sometimes pushing him back a couple of steps. The road was on a slight incline, making the trek even more difficult and tiring for him. His ankle was still bothering him and he was forced to stop now and then to rest it.

Through it all, though, Tim had one picture in his mind: Ziva, about seven months into the pregnancy, sitting in a rocking chair as she gently caressed her rather large belly. What kind of pregnant woman would she be, he wondered. What kind of cravings would she have? What kind of mood swings would she suffer? Should he make sure not to give her any weapons for the next nine months?

Above, lightening cracked across the black sky, illuminating it for only seconds. It was followed by a rumbling crash of thunder which made Tim's heart skip a beat. This wasn't the kind of weather for someone to be out and about in.

"Come on!" he muttered beneath his breath as he still saw no sign of another human being. "There has to be someone around!"

Indeed, as soon as the words had left his mouth, twin beams of light came around the corner, nearing him at a slow pace. The vehicle—a truck of some sort—was the answer to Tim's unspoken prayers. He waved his hands up and down in an effort to catch the attention of the driver. "Hey! Over here!" he called out above the loud pitter-patter of rain. "We need help!"

The vehicle showed no signs of slowing down, though. Tim was desperate. After on a split second of consideration, he ran out into the road, still waving his arms like a lunatic. His bad ankle buckled beneath him and he felt his body slump down onto the paved road. Right before he hit his head, the sound of screeching tires resonated in his mind.

Back at her car, Ziva was still huddled up in the back seat, the blanket tightly fitted around her frame. She had managed to fall into a fitful sleep, her arms encircling her lower stomach.

As she slept, the needle on the fuel gauge gradually inched its way closer and closer to the large 'E.' When it finally hit it, the engine puttered a bit before dying out. The heat gave out.

Slowly, the temperature in the car fell lower and lower.


	6. Chapter 6

Ziva shivered. She was aware that it had grown colder, but felt there was little she could do except pull the blanket closer around her. Even that didn't help her much.

Tim had left…was it an hour ago? Maybe more? The clock in her car was off, so she couldn't be sure. It seemed like it had been forever, though. The sky was still dark, so she guessed he couldn't have been gone more than an hour or two.

As she lay there in the cold, Ziva's hand instinctively trailed down to where her womb was. She knew that the child—if it was even still alive—couldn't have been developed enough to begin kicking or rolling about or whatever it was that babies did while still firmly nestled within their mothers. Still, she could help but stroke the area, hoping for a response, for some sign that the yet-to-be-born baby had not been harmed.

How had this even happened, she wondered? She, of course, knew _how_ it had happened…but not quite sure what had gone wrong during one of their multiple trysts to result in this. She had always made sure he was wearing a condom, even though she was on the pill and never missed a day. She knew that no contraceptive—save for the less popular abstinence—was completely effective and that there was always a chance something could go wrong. But for two different forms of contraceptives to fail? It was very unlikely, though, obviously, not impossible.

She shifted on to her side, arms still cradled around her lower abdomen. When she had been late six weeks ago, she had thought little of it. It wasn't uncommon for her period to be late or even be skipped altogether, especially when she was under stress. She simply shrugged it off, assuming it would come eventually. But it hadn't. Worse, she had begun throwing up in sudden bursts with no foreboding stomach aches. She would simply feel it spurt out and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

On a whim, she had grabbed a couple of pregnancy tests from the convenience store. She told herself it was foolish and that she was wasting money, but she liked to err on the safe side.

The little blue line which appeared nearly caused her to drop the test. Hurriedly, she did another test, praying that the first had been a fluke. Even when that one came out positive, she did yet another, claiming the other two could be coincidences. She didn't think, however, that three positive tests could be considered coincidence. There was no avoiding the obvious.

A quick visit to the doctor confirmed what she'd feared: she was carrying a baby. No, not just _a_ baby; _Tim's_ baby. Somehow, that made all the difference. She knew having an abortion would be like aborting Timothy; it was unfathomable to her.

Most people didn't think of Ziva as the mommy type. After all, trained killers don't sit up at night rocking a little bundle of joy back and forth and humming a soft, saccharine tune…right? They're too busy readying themselves for the next day, centering themselves in mind, body, and spirit for such domestic responsibilities.

It's true, Ziva could never picture herself as the happy little housewife who spent the days cleaning, cooking, and caring, with only her daily soaps to liven up her dull life. That did not mean, however, that the idea of having children had never once entered in her mind. In fact, Ziva could clearly remember carrying a baby doll about her house when she was young, cradling it as though it were a real little baby. So yes, children and family had been the subject of her thoughts at times, especially after things grew so serious with Tim. He was, after all, what many thought of when they thought of family men: dependable, hard working, caring. One could easily see him walking down the street with a child on each arm.

So why had she been so reluctant to tell him about her pregnancy? Perhaps she had second-guessed her instincts. Perhaps she had feared that he wasn't the man she thought he was and that he would abandon her. Or perhaps she realized that verbally admitting it to him would make it real, but if she simply didn't acknowledge it, she could pretend like it wasn't true…at least until the baby was born.

She curled her knees up to her chest. It was growing colder.

She wondered how things would proceed from here, assuming the child was still there. Would she and Tim have to get married? She wasn't opposed to the idea, of course, but she hated the idea of having to rush into it. Of course, married or not they would likely move in together. Hopefully he wouldn't mind moving into her place; his apartment wasn't the most ideal of places to raise a child. Or maybe they would find a new apartment all together.

It was only a matter of time before she started to show. Her wardrobe would have to change to accommodate the changes. She didn't mind the idea of the weight gain, though; she only hoped she wasn't afflicted with the same food cravings her mother had while pregnant. Pickles dipped in caramel didn't sound very tasty at all.

Then she would be restricted to desk work. No way she could go out into the field while with child. That was assuming, of course, that she still had a job with NCIS…or Mossad. She had a feeling neither agency would be pleased with the news. NCIS frowned upon inter-agency relationships and Mossad…well, that was more of a personal problem. Her father would not be pleased. A child out of wedlock—and with a man who wasn't Jewish at that! Most of all, though, he would scold her for allowing herself to lower her defenses, allowing herself to be vulnerable. Things like this didn't happen to Mossad operatives who were always on their guard.

She tossed and turned a bit more before giving up and simply lying on her back, eyes cast upward. Tim still hadn't come back and she had a sinking feeling.

A harsh gust of wind blew in through the cracked windshield, spraying her with drops of water. She shivered.

Her body felt like ice.


	7. Chapter 7

"He isn't moving."

"He's unconscious."

"I think you may have killed him."

"Dammit, May! For the last time, I didn't kill him! He slipped and fell. Probably hit his head on the road. My truck didn't even touch him!"

"So why isn't he moving!"

The sounds of a loud and screeching argument weren't Tim's ideal sounds for when he floated back to consciousness. The rain pounding against him and the wind which blew a frigid breeze against his motionless form, chilling him to the core, made it even worse. His body was in pain from his throbbing head down to aching ankle. He tried to open his eyes, but rain drops kept sinking in, burning his eyes like eye drops. So he let out a low moan to announce his return to the land of the living.

"Told you he wasn't dead."

"Better get him in the truck. I can move my seat up a ways and you can put him in the back."

"I can't move him myself!"

Tim felt two arms encircle him and pull him to a sitting position. His body ached in protest and he voiced his body's protests with another moan. He just wanted to lie back down and let the pain wash over.

"C'mon, mister," the voice said. "I can't leave you here and I can't get you up by myself."

Somehow, Tim managed to plant his feet below him as the arms lifted him up to a standing position. His eyes were still closed and he felt like he was about to vomit. Still, he allowed himself to be led an unidentifiable distance. Another pair of hands—these distinctly feminine in comparison to the other pair—gently took his arm.

"We'll take care of you, sweetheart," a soft voice said. "You just try and warm up. Willy, crank up the heater!"

He was laid down inside the truck. It was uncomfortable, but he didn't complain. He was out of the rain and that was a plus.

"He's too tall to fit."

"That's okay," said the soft voice. "We'll get him back to the house and he can lay down there."

The other voice grumbled. "Crazy guy…running around in the rain. Gonna get himself killed!"

The truck came to life and continued its journey down the rainy road. Tim managed to pry his eyes open and assess his surroundings. He was lying in the back of a pick-up truck. His head was situated on one of the fold-down seats and his legs spanned across to the other one. It was a tight squeeze and his knees were painfully bent. He situated his feet so that the soles of his shoes were pressed flat against the opposite end and his knees were creating a right angle.

The woman caught sight of his movement and looked back over her seat, behind which Tim's head lay. She looked to be in her mid-twenties. Her brown hair was curly and frizzy, hanging around her face like limp noodles. She wore no make-up and her eyebrows looked as though they could use a good tweezing. When she smiled, Tim noticed her teeth had a sickly yellowish color. Still, he felt comfortable knowing she was there, though he didn't know why. "You okay, darling?"

Tim wasn't sure. "I…I think so."

"What on earth were you doing running around in the rain like that?"

"I…" his mind drew a blank. It was clouded, like a fog that refused to lift. "I don't know…"

"You must have one hell of a death wish, kid." That comment came from the driver. He looked older than the woman, with blonde hair which stuck out at the back of his baseball cap. He wore a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing a large tattoo of a scantily dressed woman on the man's forearm. The man didn't turn around as he said it, but Tim caught his scornful glare in the rear view mirror.

The woman, who seemed far more congenial than her male counterpart, smiled at Tim. "I'm May and this is my husband Willy. And you are?"

He rubbed his head as though his massaging fingers might pull bits of information forward. It seemed to work. "Tim," he said. "Tim McGee."

"Well don't you worry, Tim. We'll get you back to our house and settled in. You can stay for the night if you'd like, though you'll have to take the couch."

He didn't respond. His mind was elsewhere…a thought that refused to completely form. Tim scrunched his eyes closed, but still got nothing.

"You hungry, darling?"

"No," he told her. "I had dinner tonight."

"Well, we got a nice big pot of beef stew at the house if you change your mind."

"What happened to me?" he asked. He didn't quite recall how he'd gotten into this situation to begin with.

"You ran out into the street like a crazy person," Willy said. "If I hadn't stopped in time, you'd be road kill."

"Why…why did I do it?"

Willy snorted. "Hell if I know! You were probably pepped up on some kinda drug."

His wife gave him a smack on the shoulder. "Hush! You don't know what was happening." Despite her words, she gave Tim a worried glance. "Were you doing drugs, darling?"

"No…I don't think so."

Willy gave another snort.

May turned back around in her seat, though not before giving Tim a reassuring pat on his knee. "You just rest," she told him. "I'll get you a nice cup of coffee and you'll be good as new."

Something was biting at the back of his mind, but he couldn't pull it out of the fog. Finally, he stopped trying and sighed resignedly. Whatever it was couldn't be that important.

* * *

Try as she might, Ziva couldn't sleep. It was too cold to sleep; she needed it warm and toasty. It must have been because she grew up in Israel. There, she was always warm, even on the coldest night. The blanket was doing little to help her. It was still wet from her earlier trek into the rain. But it would have to do unless she wanted to lie stark naked in the back of the car.

Despite the severity of her situation, Ziva grinned at the notion. What would Tim think to come back and find her like that, her best sex kitten pout decorating her face. It would certainly leave him tongue-tied, back to his old, stuttering ways. Then again, if he came back—_when_, she mentally corrected, _when_ he came back—it would most likely be with help and that probably wasn't the best way to be found. Besides, that was how they'd gotten into this situation to begin with.

She glanced down at her bare abdomen. Was there anything still there, she wondered. She placed a hand over it. Obviously, it was too early to feel any kicking, but Ziva hoped that just maybe she'd be able to make-out a heartbeat or a movement or _something_.

There was nothing.

"No use obsessing over it," she said aloud. Had anyone heard her comment, they would have heard the shaky uncertainty which betrayed her true feelings of the subject. She intended to obsess over it until she had a definite answer concerning the fate of her child. _Their_ child, she corrected glumly in her mind.

A sound from outside took her attention. She sat up and looked out the window. It was nearly impossible to see anything. There was nothing. But there was the sound again. Could Tim have returned with help? Or had someone miraculously spotted her car? Was this person a friend or a foe? If it were the latter, could she possibly hope to defend herself in this situation?

When she heard it a third time, Ziva clicked the door open slightly. "Hello!" she called out, hoping her voice was strong enough to carry through the sound of the rain. "Is anyone there?"

No one responded.

"Please," she croaked desperately, "please, if you can hear me, I need help! I'm trapped down here!"

There was the sound again…a kind of creaking sound…like wood breaking apart…

She stuck her head out of the door and into the rain. Tim had told her not to leave the car, but her body was still inside, so she hadn't technically left the car. She searched through the sheet of pouring water for the source of the sound. When she heard it again, she realized it was coming from high above her. Looking up, she saw with horror a rather large tree limb threatening to fall. She mentally begged it to stay put.

As if it were mocking her, the wood further cracked and the tree could take no more. The limb snapped off from the strength of its own weight and gravity pulled it quickly down upon the car.

Ziva only had enough time to dive to the floor of the backseat before the limb made impact with the top of the car with a sickening crunch.


	8. Chapter 8

The front of the car had borne most of the brunt. The tree limb had hit the top of the car and the windshield, further breaking the latter and showering the car and its occupant with fragments of glass. The top of the car had caved in with the force of the collision. The material hadn't torn open, but there was no guarantee it wouldn't soon give in to the weight of the large limb, so staying on the floor of the car might not be the best idea.

Ziva tried to move and groaned in pain. When she'd leapt back in, she had fallen heavily on her arm. She wasn't sure if it was broken or not; all she knew as that it hurt like hell. She gritted her teeth and took the jolts of pain as she gingerly pushed herself back up to the backseat. She noted that the backseat windows had also been shattered, so she now had even less protection from the frigid night air.

The blanket was stained with spots of blood; the blood was hers. The glass had left small cuts on her body. It was unavoidable. Even sitting there, she was acutely aware of the shards of sharp glass which covered it. She carefully brushed them to the floor and situated herself on the seat in a fetal position.

She cradled the hurt arm and tried to use the blanket as a makeshift sling. It left her naked body vulnerable to the elements, but she couldn't just leave the arm dangling there.

"Tim," she asked weakly, "where are you?"

* * *

"Here we are!" May chirped.

Tim was lying down and couldn't see the house, but he was relieved nonetheless by her cheerful announcement. He was exhausted for reasons he didn't know and, despite his comments earlier regarding the promised pot of beef stew, his stomach was now rumbling in anticipation of food. A big bowl of beef stew and a comfy couch; it sounded heavenly to him.

The truck came to a halt. "Now it's nothing fancy," May warned as she opened her door. "Just a little home, but I told you, we got space on the couch. And it's heated!"

After Willy had stepped out he pulled his seat forward to let Tim out of the back. He crawled out and almost lost his footing. For whatever reason, his legs felt like jelly. If Willy hadn't caught his arm, Tim probably would have face-planted on the ground.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" the man snarled in a less than pleasant tone.

"I'm just…just…" Tim wasn't sure what he was.

Willy cursed, muttering something about drugs under his breath as he lead Tim to the house, keeping a firm grip on him lest his legs should give out again.

As May had mentioned, the house was very small. There looked to only be two bedrooms and one bathroom along with a miniscule living area which doubled as the kitchen. But the couch—complete with a fresh afghan hanging over the back—looked very inviting to the weary Tim.

He took a seat while Willy went to build a fire and May busied herself around in the kitchen. Tim could smell something; he wasn't sure what it was, but it made his mouth water.

"Need something to drink, sweetie?"

Tim turned to answer her…and paused. He hadn't seen all of her when he'd been lying in the back of the truck, and when he'd come into the house he was too focused on not falling to pay her much mind. Now, though, he realized that May was pregnant—_very_ pregnant. He would guess she was somewhere around seven months.

"You're pregnant?"

She looked down as though she had to double-check before she answered. When she looked back up, her face beamed in that special way that only a woman with child could. "Yep! Our first!"

"Congratulations." Something tugged at the hazy part of his brain. "Boy or girl?"

"Boy," Willy said. For the first time since Tim had met him, the brusque man wore an expression that wasn't anger or frustration. He, too, beamed at the prospect of his soon-to-be-born son.

Tim nodded, a twinge of envy swimming about in his mind. Soon-to-be parents always looked so happy. Would he ever have that same happiness? Perhaps very soon, a nagging through persisted.

May came over with a bowl of stew and a mug of tea. "You're not likely to get anything done tonight. You eat, get some rest, and tomorrow we'll try and figure out what's going on.

"Thank you," he said politely before slovenly stuffing his face. He hadn't realized how famished he really was. "I'm sorry to be an inconvenience."

"No inconvenience," she assured him with a sweet smile. "We'll be caring for another person in only a couple of months, so it's good to be getting some practice in now. 'Sides, it would've been downright un-Christian of us to just leave you there like that!"

A crackle of thunder sounded from outside, grabbing the attention of them all. May stood and waddled to the window. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "And in this weather! I tell you, it's a lucky thing we stopped in time."

Tim gulped. He didn't need to be told what would have happened if they _hadn't_ stopped in time. Not that it was their fault; he was the one who'd gone running into the street. But why?

"On a night like this," she continued, "you expect to see lots of accidents, especially around these parts."

"Yeah?" he asked half-heartedly between bites of the stew. He was only partially listening at this point.

"Oh, sure. Lots of folks think they can speed through the rain. They don't realize how these roads twist and turn. Luckily for you and for us, Willy knows these roads like the back of his hand."

She sat—well, plopped, was more like it—down next to Tim and set her feet atop the cluttered coffee table. "So, Tim, tell me about yourself."

"Like what?"

"What do you do for a living?"

He had to pause for a moment. "NCIS. It's Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I'm a federal agent."

"Do you and your wife have kids?"

"No wife," he told her, his mind now on autopilot, "but my girlfriend is preg-" He cut off, eyes wide.

May gently patted his hand. "It's okay, sweetie," she said in a soft voice, having taken his abrupt cut-off as shame of having a child out of wedlock. "We won't judge you."

"No…no it's just that…my girlfriend was with me tonight." He furrowed his brow. Ziva had been there…right? "We were…we had gone to dinner…and we were driving home."

"And then what?" May asked with rapt attention, as though catching the latest gossip from a girlfriend.

He closed his eyes to recall the memories. They had been foggy before; now they were forming at the speed of light. "We were driving and the car went off the road!"

"And you just left her there?" Willy asked.

"No! Well, yes, but I went to find help. That's why I ran out in front of your car!" Despite being on a verge of sleep moments before, Tim jumped to his feet. "Can I use your phone?"

Willy picked up the phone and listened. "Power lines are down."

"Cell phone?"

The man shook his head. "There's a gas station with a pay phone a few miles down the way we came."

Tim shook his head. "I need to get to her…I've been gone too long and she's probably scared to death." Tim hid a smile at the idea of Ziva being scared of anything. This was no time to be smiling; it was time to be the hero!

May jumped right in without missing a beat, "Willy, take your truck to the gas station and call for an ambulance. Tim and me will take my old car and get his girlfriend. What's her name, sweetie?"

"Ziva."

She nodded firmly. "We'll go get Ziva and get her settled." The woman was obviously not afraid of taking charge of a situation, a trait for which Tim was very grateful at the moment.

He grabbed her in a hug. "Thank you," he whispered.

"That's enough of that," she said, giving his arm a playful slap. "Time to get your booty into action!"

* * *

She shivered; her body felt numb. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and her mind thought back to Israel; hot, arid Israel. Perhaps the thoughts would sustain her until Tim returned.

Then, she closed her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

"Do you remember where you went off the road?" May asked as she and Tim went down the road. She was in the passenger seat while Tim drove.

He shook his head in disdain. The entire area looked the same to him. "I know it was somewhere down this way, but I won't know it until I see her car.

The two were driving down the road at a snail's pace, eyes peeled for signs of a recent wreck. Between the horrid weather and the late hour it seemed no other drivers—save for Willy who was on his way to the pay phone to call for help—were on the road, so they were able to amble on as slowly as they wanted to, making sudden stops when they thought they saw something.

I failed her, Tim thought to himself. She had been counting on him to get help, to save her and the little one. And what had he done? He'd wasted precious time by hitting his head and forgetting about her. Good one, McDoofus. If she died as a result of his failure, he would never be able to forgive himself.

As though sensing the man's grief and guilt, May placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. "We'll find her, dear. The good Lord will watch over her and your baby."

He offered a wan smile, though he made no effort to agree with her.

As they drove on slowly, the rain, thankfully, seemed to lessen. At one point, it let up until it was nothing more than a slight drizzle. Still, they had no sign of Ziva's car.

Tim let out a sigh. "This is hopeless."

"Nothing is hopeless."

"I probably messed up. They were probably in the other direction and now we're just wasting our time, getting farther and farther away from them."

"Timothy, you said you'd been this way and that was your gut reaction. You must always trust your gut. Now keep driving."

He knew better than to talk back.

The blackness which surrounded them left them almost blind, despite the aid of headlights. May had a flashlight which she shone out into the off-road areas. "Careful up here," she warned as they came upon a turn in the road. "It's a sharp one."

Tim dutifully circled the steering wheel, letting the car gently make the turn. His eyes were on the road, not wanting to chance an accident, even at this pace. That was when he heard a gasp from the side.

"Stop the car!" she ordered. His foot slammed on the brake. "Is that what I think it is?"

Tim glanced out, squinting in the dark. May's hand which held the flashlight shook slightly, but there was no mistaking the red color of Ziva's car. He shoved the gear into park and jumped out of the car without another thought.

"Ziva!" he yelled as he ran off the road, down to the wreckage. He stopped short when he saw the damage. Had that tree limb been there when he'd left? "Ziva!"

There was neither sound nor movement from within and Tim ran closer, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. The windows were broken—again, he wondered, was this new damage or had he simply forgotten about the car being in such poor shape?—and when he looked in he saw the unmistakable image of his girlfriend. She was naked still, the disheveled blanket doing little to nothing for her, and seemed to be cradling her right arm as if it were a child.

"Ziva, baby, I'm here!" he called. She didn't stir. The temperature inside the car was frigid and no sound came from the heaters.

He threw open the door and slid into the car beside her. He'd already removed his coat and he now wrapped it around her. As he was pulling her out, he heard May from behind.

"Careful!" she warned. He turned and saw her standing there beside her car, her own coat wrapped tightly around her large frame. Tim had no idea how smart it was for a woman in her condition to be standing there like that in the cold night air, but he had no time to fight with her about it. He noted that the car was still parked in the middle of the road, the hazard lights blinking brightly. Good. That would make it easier for help to find them.

He carried Ziva from one car to the other, May following behind. "Is she breathing?"

Tim didn't answer. Instead, he placed Ziva in the back of the car—heaters blowing full blast—then pressed two fingers against her neck. A pulse, albeit a weak, unsteady one, was there. He breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in hours.

"How long will it take for help to arrive?"

May wasn't certain. "That depends on who they've got available."

Tim looked longingly at Ziva. His hand brushed away a strand of wet hair which hung in her face. "Come on," he whispered. "Come on, just open your eyes…let me know you're okay."

Her eyelids didn't even flutter.

May, wanting to give the couple as much privacy as she could, slipped into the front passenger seat. Tim lay down in the back, holding Ziva in the same manner he had held her before he'd gone of for help. He situated her on top of him, her head on his chest. His arms were wrapped around her body and he rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping to generate some much-needed heat.

"You can't do this," he told her in a low tone. "You've got to pull through this. After all we've been through tonight, all of the boundaries we overcame, it just wouldn't be fair to end it like this."

_Sometimes, McGee, life just isn't fair_, he heard her say in his mind.

"No, it isn't," he agreed glumly, "but that still doesn't make this right. Now I'm not going to argue with you; either wake yourself up or I'll give you the Gibbs slap of all Gibbs slaps."

_You would strike your girlfriend?_ she asked incredulously in his mind. _You would strike her while she's pregnant with your child?_

"I don't want to do it…but if that's what it takes…" Now he was just talking so that he could concentrate on something other than crying. He didn't want to cry. He wasn't going to cry.

_My silly little McGee. _I _am supposed to be the stoic one, remember?_

"I guess it's begun to rub off on me a bit."

_Are you not the one who told me I did not have to pull the stoic act?_

"That was different…you had me there. I've got no one…"

As he continued talking to himself, conversing with the voice of Ziva which only existed in his head, May glanced sadly at the couple in the rearview mirror. She said nothing, though. Her words were already being used on the prayers she was muttering beneath her breath.

"So I was thinking that when the baby's born, we should get an apartment together. Maybe we should do that even before then. A nice little place with a nursery. My mom has Sarah's old crib somewhere along with some of our baby stuff, so we wouldn't necessarily have to buy a lot of new stuff, unless you wanted to, of course. I'm not sure what we'll name it…I guess we have time to figure that out, though," he rambled, just saying whatever popped into his mind. "I never thought much about having a junior, but what would you think about Timothy if it's a boy? And if it's a girl, maybe Brittany or something like that?"

"No…"

Tim's words stopped and he looked down at Ziva's motionless form, unsure if that had come from her own mouth or had simply been another figment of his imagination.

"What?"

"No…Brittany…knew girl once…Brittany…a b-bitch…"

"Ziva!" he exclaimed. "Thank God!"

"'S cold,' she murmured, snuggling down deeper into his embrace. "Think I broke m' arm." Her words were slurring; she was in a dizzy state of consciousness. But Tim didn't care so much.

"We're getting help, Ziva," he promised, planting a firm kiss on the top of her head. "They're coming now. We'll get you all fixed up."

"Th…baby…"

"They'll take care of the baby too."

"'S lost…"

"Nothing's lost, Ziva," he swore as the night's silence was broken by the sounds of distant wailing. Lights were flashing, signaling the arrival of the long overdue help. "Nothing's lost…we're going to be okay."


	10. Chapter 10

She lies flat on the gurney, watching the tiles on the hospital's ceiling fly past her line of vision. She shivers. Why is it so cold?

"You're going to be fine, Ziva."

She looks to the side. Tim is following behind the gurney, his hand holding hers tightly. He smiles, but his eyes betray his weariness. She knows he has gotten no sleep tonight. But he doesn't let that stop him from following her as far as he can, offering her comfort and support.

Ziva is frightened, though she'd never admit it.

They reach a door and the doctor stops them. "Sir," he says to Tim, "you'll have to wait out here." Tim is not happy about being shut out, but he doesn't say anything. He just nods, gives her a soft, tender kiss, and promises he'll be waiting right outside, that he'll be there to greet her when she comes out.

They wheel her in. She still feels so cold. There's a jolt of pain and she cries out. She wants to scream at them as they bustle around her, insist that they give her pain killers right now. But she doesn't. She can take a little pain.

"We're going to have to numb you," says one of the nurses. "This is going to hurt a bit, but then you won't feel anything."

It was an understatement, Ziva finds, as the numbing agent is administered. It didn't hurt a bit; it hurt a _lot_. True to the nurse's word, however, the pain ebbs and soon Ziva feels nothing. She sighs in relief, though she knows the night is not over yet.

As they continue to prep her, Ziva turns her head to the side. Standing outside, face pressed against the window like a little kid standing outside a toy store, is Tim—her Tim. He catches her eye and smiles encouragingly, giving her a thumbs-up. She mouths "I love you" to him and he reciprocates the words.

She never thought it would be so easy, really. Now that she's been numbed, there's no pain. She simply lies there as the doctors and nurses do all of the work. She could get used to this.

Minutes pass, though she is unsure how many. Her eyes are looking upward, her thoughts thinking back to the night and the accident. Tim holding her as she sobbed. Tim taking charge of the situation, going out into the rain for help. Tim cradling her in his arms, assuring her that things would be okay. And she believed him.

There had been the fight; each had made mistakes, admittedly. But, considering the situation, a fight was inevitable. The fighting didn't matter; what mattered was the end result, did they run from the situation or face it head on?

They had chosen the latter.

She feels a tugging. It brings her out of her thoughts. They tell her it's almost done. She sighs in relief. She hates hospitals. The sooner it's done with, the sooner they can go home.

Then there's a loud cry. But it isn't coming from Ziva.

"Congratulations!" the doctor says jubilantly. "You've got a healthy baby boy here!"

He stands, holding the newborn. Ziva sees him over the screen which obscures her lower abdomen from her sight. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, but they are not tears of sorrow. Straining her neck, she glances back to where Tim is standing. All of the weariness has left his body, replaced by joy and elation.

They lock eyes and share smile.

* * *

Ziva looked down at the sleeping child she held in her arms. Their son had inherited her olive-tinted skin and dark hair. From the prominent pout which remained on his face, it looked as though he'd ended up with his father's mouth. Her hand went up to his face and she gently stroked his cheek with her thumb. "My hand is like a baseball mitt compared to him."

"I wish I could have been in there," Tim lamented as he caressed her hair. The C-section hadn't been planned. Ziva had been prepped for vaginal birth. Three hours into labor, though, the doctor realized the umbilical cord was wrapped around the child's neck, leaving a C-section as the only option. As Ziva was already dilating and the baby was going to come out any moment, there hadn't been time to wait for Tim while he changed into scrubs. They'd needed to get her numbed and open quickly.

"You were there," she told him. "You were standing there, watching everything. You probably saw more than I did." She nuzzled the baby boy's head. "And you got to hold him while I got sewn up."

He kissed the top of her head, pulling her body closer to his. "You know, we're going to have to name him eventually."

Ziva made a face. "Are you still pushing for Timothy Jr.?" she asked, recalling the babbling to which she'd awoken eight months prior.

"Not really," he admitted. "I was just trying to keep talking when I said that. I think naming him Timothy would make things too confusing. I'd never know if you were talking to me or to him."

"I could simply call you McGee or McGeek if you would like," she teased.

"Please don't. Timothy sounds so sexy when you say it; I'd hate to lose that."

She laughed. In her arms the baby stirred, giving a soft whine. "I am sorry, my darling," she whispered to him, kissing him atop his head. "I forgot that you were sleeping. Daddy and I will try to be quieter."

"What about Jacob?" Tim suggested.

Ziva looked up at him and then back down at their son. Jacob. It was a nice name. "Jacob McGee," she whispered. "I do believe that suits him. What do you think?" she asked the sleeping child. He didn't respond. "Well, he has no objections to it."

Tim delicately took her face in his hands, letting his thumbs stroke her cheek the way hers had stroked Jacob's moments earlier. His lips fell upon hers. He kissed her over and over, on her lips and her cheeks and her nose and her forehead. And Ziva drank it in, not caring that she had on no make-up, hadn't brushed her teeth that morning, and had just come from surgery and probably looked a fright. When you were holding a miracle child in your arms—and that's what he was, Ziva decided, seeing as he had not only managed to be conceived despite the use of two contraceptives, but had also survived a frightful accident and long exposure to the elements while within her womb—things like make-up and appearances simply don't matter so much.

The conception of the baby had been an accident—though neither Tim nor Ziva would ever say that aloud, opting to think of it as simply unplanned—but the result had been worth any troubles and tribulations through which they'd gone. Who could possibly look into that beautiful slumbering face and not fall instantly in love?

Even accidents can have blessed outcomes.

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**AN:** Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. It is, as always, greatly appreciated!


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